


Spinning

by Perelka_L



Category: Gunpoint (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Kink, Erotophonophilia, M/M, Murder Kink, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2676788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perelka_L/pseuds/Perelka_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They really love each other but they also can't separate work from personal life.<br/>That can be problematic for a hitman and a spy in a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spinning

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by amazing nnahn@tumblr.
> 
> Warning: mind the tags. I mean it. Mind the tags. Our lovely pair of nerds have some issues in this fic.  
> Also, it's the most explicit thing I ever published. Mind that too.

"Oh come on." Hightower moaned, something close to anger crossing his face but that was overshadowed by his annoyance "You are acting as if you never killed anyone in your life."

"Well..." I hesitated. Well. Exactly. "There were a few guards here and there when I felt like punching someone..."

"See?" The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, one of those moments when he tried to suppress his psychopathic grin. Even that tiny twitch of a muscle managed to make the corrupt part of the city feel uncomfortable.

Yep, that sick bastard got off on killing people. Once I asked him if that was true, when we met in a bar about two months after our last 'meeting' and maybe three weeks after a strange wave of murders of some big fishes in the local guns industry. I knew it was Hightower's handiwork since he was the only hitman in the  city good enough and amoral enough to do it. Anyway, his answer was a shrug and a short "And even if?".

I wasn't entirely prepared for that but hey, I asked, right? So I got what I wanted. Also, I ordered a beer and sat next to him.

Thing is that spies disappeared too. It’s a big city, dangerous city so watching someone’s back is a rather lucrative job. The only reason why I lasted is because I managed to beat Hightower during our first meeting. Somehow. I have no idea how I did it, but I did. Pure luck? Desperation? Maybe either or both.

Back to my apartment.

"The thing is..." Hightower rambled on "...that you never accept murders, even though you are able to kill somebody very nice and clean and quick, I saw that." Oh, look, his cheek twitched again "And if you did, you would be able to get out of this place." And here he looked around, as if to indicate _your apartment is a fucking shithole and I think it could look nicer. Or you could get away from this city. Your choice._

"Says the guy who has less furniture than I do." Hightower lived just above me, oh the coincidence. All he had was a little chair, a telescope, a blanket and loads of empty Chinese takeaway boxes – most likely not his regular place, maybe he had a villa with a  swimming pool somewhere else but definitely not in the city, and anyway he never mentioned it so I could mercilessly mock him. I even once wondered what he was doing with the money he was getting for all those murders but back at the bar I got my answer when I noticed a pair of nice Gatecrashers on his feet. Slightly better than mine, newer model, less visible, less “flashy”, but hey, mine were good at kicking down doors and this is all that mattered to me. That idiot had probably bought them with all sorts of weird upgrades. He was that type of guy; he'll buy stuff only from the highest shelves. Even that little chair in the apartment upstairs was probably some kind of designer shit.

The sofa we were on was a simple IKEA with a few blankets piled on. Nice and soft and cheap blankets that suspiciously always managed to attract Hightower’s attention.

"I can get stuff done, thank you very much." I answered. I could impulse-buy all I wanted. Heck, I could get that horsehead mask even before the entire INTEX-Rooke affair.

"Well, you are still a better hacker than me." Hightower nodded, watching at me in the silence. After few moments his grin turned into a predatory smirk. Oh no. I knew that look. Too well.

"I prefer to kill the data, not people." I mumbled. "I like cash but I like my conscience clean, not that you’d know what that is." Hightower didn't take the bait, instead of usual eye roll he merely stared at me, eyes darkening "But hey, it's always better to keep it that way, huh? We won't steal clients from each other too much, right?"

"Maybe." Hightower moved a bit closer, I would move back if I could. A weak light coming from a lamp next to the sofa couldn't reach his expression now, his face was hidden in the dark. "If you were good at killing, I'd have to get rid of you." His hands landed on my throat and I moved, wary. His voice was void of emotions, cold. I'd grab his wrist, just to warn him or to make myself feel safer but I realized I couldn't move my hands-

Ah. I forgot that the entire discussion started when we were in the middle of snogging each other senseless. Yeah, that happened. It all started maybe two weeks or so ago. We were both a bit drunk and we went out of a bar together and after that we found out that we lived next to each other - one above each other, to be more precise. He lost his keys (yeah... right) so we both ended up on my sofa. Many times a week. A warm body is always a warm body and rather worryingly quickly we started our affair. Later on we both found out we have a thing for restraints and let's just say we discovered the most creative ways of using our belts and ties.

Currently they were coiled tightly around my wrists above my head, which was the reason for the numbness in my hands and why I couldn't really stop Hightower from anything. His thumb was currently stroking my Adam's apple, gently, and, at the very same time, threateningly. I remembered  the way his hands felt when he was beating me senseless during our first meeting. Thank you, mind, that was nice. And unnecessary.

"You're better at this than me, you know." I choked out. The bastard moved, straddling my hips and oh god he got off on this, he genuinely got off on the thought of killing me.

I don't know what was more disturbing, the fact that I actually let that guy tie me up and screw me, the theory I had that he was a sick bastard who killed for sexual reasons or the little hidden fantasy of mine in which he came to my apartment, still high on his recent murder and maybe even still covered in little specks of blood after a successful headshot from close distance…

That not-yet-dirty thought was cut short by his hand tightening around my throat. I tried to take a breath in but his grasp was too tight. I tried not to panic, to keep calm, to concentrate on something other than my lungs burning. Numbness of my hands. A soft blanket under my back. Hightower's erection against my thigh, felt through the material of his briefs.

I know, I’ve mentioned it many times but oh god that sick bastard got off on this.

His hips started moving and I felt my lungs scream for air. I counted down the seconds, he knew he had one minute and not more. We had rules, god damn it, plus I could still move my legs, I could always throw him off me and maybe out of the window. Without his Bullfrogs, which were currently lying on the floor next to our sofa, he wouldn't survive. On the other hand, it took me a while to get enough cash to repair this window. I really liked this window. It was a nice window. I wouldn't want that moron to break it.

I couldn't count and keep on thinking at the very same time, I could feel my thoughts slow down and world darken, like then when his fists were slamming into my face, and that bastard was grinning in that funny way that showed only his teeth and no emotions and oh god I think it's already two minutes, I have no idea, and he should give me a breather long time ago and he's still grinding on my thigh...

He let go and I immediately breathed in. Too fast. I started to cough, throat itching, burning, I couldn't do it without hurting myself. Hightower immediately released my hands so I could turn around and hang my head down to make things easier for myself. The floor and our clothes on it were still swirling in front my eyes but each cough cleared my head and made oxygen flow into my burning insides.

"Conway?" He whispered, almost carefully. He let go of his own self-control and _how the fuck am I supposed to let myself trust that guy?_

"Too long." I finally rasped out when I could breathe in and out without much pain. I didn't look up but I knew he would be staring at me with glassy eyes of wolf in lamb's disguise, trying to hide his boner with his arm.

"Couldn't help myself." He genuinely sounded sorry but I still felt too cold and too out of breath for forgiveness. I sat on the sofa, trying not to look at him.

"You crossed the line, Hightower. Could've killed me." Truth be told, he could always do it. He was a second away from his holster lying on the floor. He could take his gun without me even noticing, shoot me in the head, get off on that and then clean all the traces and pretend we never knew each other. Here lies Richard Conway, the idiot who slept with a guy who got off on killing. Should've seen that coming, really. I could almost hear Rooke's laugh.

"I am not in the mood anymore." I said, moving my legs back on the sofa, feet pushing at his thighs. He looked almost sorry but I felt bruises forming on my neck.

"Fine." He got up and stood next to our sofa, just watching. Slowly he bent down, and I, expecting a kiss, moved my head away. I lost my mood for anything, a strange mix of anxiousness and anger rolling inside my stomach instead of warmth and blood. He didn't want to kiss me, though, he gently bit down on my jaw, maybe as a strange form of affection, and went to the bathroom, quickly and quietly. Maybe he was ashamed? I wondered but then I remembered that we’re talking about Hightower. Embarrassed, maybe, but not ashamed.

I heard a steady splash of water coming from the shower in the bathroom. Thank god I repaired that a week ago, or else there would be more awkwardness. He probably ran away to jack off to the thought of killing me or something. If he did it today, he wouldn't have to escape to bathroom to jerk off or whatever he's doing right now. He'd come right on my still warm corpse.

That thought should have disturbed me a lot more than it did.

I got up, wincing with every stretch of skin on my neck. A mug that proudly stood on a table in my kitchenette contained coffee that, sadly, had already gone cold. First thing you do after every job done - coffee, never mind that when you come home somebody's already here. After coffee is made you feel that you can find some time to talk with not exactly unwanted guest but when guest puts your mug away and starts snogging you, what can you do?

I could microwave it but decided against it. I poured cold coffee into the sink, rinsed the mug and put it under the coffeemaker. While the machine worked, Hightower finished his shower, although he still wasn't coming out, even after the coffee was done. I made two mugs, just in case. Somehow after entire Rooke-INTEX business I got more jobs than Hightower but he in turn got the dirtiest and, in result, the most lucrative ones. I still got more money. Most of my jobs were rather mediocre, get a camera here and there, follow someone somewhere, find someone who disappeared... When stuck, I could also always ask Hightower for some things, rarely. After sex it was easy to nudge him about some lost man and even easier to make him talk how long it took to kill him. Most of times after that he was ready for round two which, I have to say, is impressive, considering that he was, after all, more than slightly older than me.

Well, fine, it's disturbing. Maybe I got used to this shit, no matter how creepy that was.

Certainly less creepy than my thoughts weirdly turning to him whenever I had a moment alone with my hands down my pants, even before our little affair started. What the hell, anything about Hightower should disturb me. It didn’t.

He left a bathroom, shirt and briefs on but hair still glistening with moisture. I noted he left a wet towel hanging on a heater, visible through steam in the air. Oh, there goes my hot water, here I hoped for a nice shower to get rid of sweat. At least I had my coffee.

I moved the other mug in his direction, sliding it on rough surface of a table. He snapped out of his thoughts, noise attracting his attention, and with a nod took his coffee and stood next to the window, watching outside world. Third floor and it was so easy to watch people in their apartments or on the streets, especially with lights dimmed down and a massive window replacing one of the walls of the room.

Hightower would know. He had a fucking telescope to watch everything, just above me. This is how he watched Selena, after all, before killing her. She just finished talking to me when he did that. I guess... I guess it still hurts, even though Gessler is no more. I knew her and the man in only pants standing in front of me murdered her. But I knew not to blame him, Hightower was only a tool, hands and nothing else. I had same job. Just a tool, extension, that could hack a computer for you.

A quiet sound immediately made me look around. A ringtone, muffled but still perfectly recognisible.

We looked at each other and we, for lack of better word, jumped in the general direction of piles of clothes. Hightower snatched his phone from back pocket of his Bullfrogs in a matter of few seconds while I, uh, still looked. I'd swore I left them in my pants...

"Not mine, must be yours." Hightower muttered and then joined me in a search. We kept on looking but in the moment I managed to snatch it from inside pocket of my coat, the melody stopped mid-tone and I was left with a small notification on the screen that someone called. I didn't recognize the number. Aw hell. High chance of a nice job flying past my head.

Hightower motioned me to pass him my phone, so I did just that. He took a look at number, raised an eyebrow and then typed the number into his phone, to check whether he knew who was a potential caller. He knew a lot of people in the city.

"Ah." He murmured, smirk growing on his face. "Claire Hatchinson, sister of woman I was told to kill recently." He explained, seeing my face. Probably. I really have trouble hiding my feelings and intentions. For a spy.

"So what, she'll want to find a murderer?" I grasped my shirt, lying nearby. "I can't say that's going to be difficult."

"Of course, that is only a theory."

"And what's the story?"

"The usual with a twist, husband hates wife but loves her money so decides to suffer her abuse until one day he snaps. And calls a specialist." I stared for a second as Hightower put his holster on.

"I guess that he hired you for her money?" Socks, socks, where the hell are my socks...

"Not her anymore."

I couldn't help but imagine. Hightower's murders were either clean and efficient or just needlessly bloody. I still remember police station and a smear of blood and shards of broken glass in interrogation room. I never asked. Who. Why. Rarely I do ask about his methods unless I have to but sometimes we meet by a pure chance and I can hear a gunshot or screams or just slick, bloody noises of a knife in someone's guts while I hack a computer a room or two next to the scene of murder. Once I saw Hightower slam a pen straight into the heart of some bloke that was on his hit list. His lifeless body slammed onto a desk in which I tried to hack a laptop.

Sock hid itself inside my pants, I could feel it scratching against my calf when I put them on. Hightower  was already dressed up, standing in front of a mirror and trying to decide what angle is best for his hat. Not like that angle would be completely skewed at the first jump outside... What the hell, I do the same thing every time I get out of home. Hats! Hats. Are. Important.

"In a rush?" I asked while checking a phone again. No texts, no calls, nada and I didn’t want to call her myself. I guess I'll have to wait.

"Funnily enough, yes. I have no idea where can I get a rope at this hour in the city without being suspicious."

"...Eugh." Eloquently put, Richard, really. But hey, I had no idea. Not my line of work.

"Nevermind, I'll manage." And he left, slamming the doors. No good-byes, no see-you-soons, as usual. We'll bump into each other again soon in a bar or on the stairs to our apartments. Or we'll see each other as spots of light in the darkness of the sky, our Bullfrogs glowing with every jump from building to building. Maybe we’ll see each other when doing our jobs and I would watch him take another life or he would watch me tap random codes on a keyboard.

His eyes were always the same when he murdered or had sex with me. I liked that. I hated that. Maybe I was into same shit as Hightower - I mean, I didn't pop a boner whenever I killed somebody, ok? That would be weird… Who the hell am I kidding, our entire relationship was weird from the start. Seriously, Richard, hooking up with a guy who tried to kill you. Words I repeat to myself after every time we end up in bed or in any other place that we can have sex in. By ‘any other place’ I mean, of course, nearly entire city. Seriously, when two spies are at it you just can't be sure where they did it or not. Like horny teenagers, for god’s sake, but I guess not many people can stand weird kinks, right?

At least he's not into corpses. That's what he's told me after one of times like those today, his hands nearly killing me. Let's just say we had to call an ambulance and I needed a lot of blood poured back into my veins. Later, when I got out of hospital and we met, he said then that he didn't want me to die. That at first, sure, beating me senseless was a pure pleasure but now it’s different.

The thing with spies is that you can't really trust them, can you?

A phone released a happy sound, notifying me that someone messaged me.

Work time. 

**Author's Note:**

> It's official, I'm a trash. I wanted to explore this strange kind of kink dynamic when kinks do not /exactly/ fit and this scenario was thought up.  
> Essentially main issue is that Hightower very much enjoys killing people and it's the only way he can get to stimulate himself but he really wants to have a normal relationship with Conway and not kill him accidentally. Conway, on the other hand, wants to be handled but has trouble expressing himself.  
> Bloody nerds jumping from window to window.  
> Title comes from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack, "Oh well, the devil makes us sin/But we like it when we're spinning in his grip." It's only this line.  
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
